


EDNOS (Three Hundred Seven Point Five Zero)

by acheaptrickandacheesyoneline



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Oliver curses a lot in his head, TW: Eating Disorder, seriously, so language warning too, tw: PTSD, warning for eating disorder and the thoughts that go with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-05 13:51:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5377607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acheaptrickandacheesyoneline/pseuds/acheaptrickandacheesyoneline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver's relationship with food and eating after coming back from Lian Yu is not the healthiest in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	EDNOS (Three Hundred Seven Point Five Zero)

**Author's Note:**

> Please please PLEASE note the warning. This is a fic that deals with eating disorders as a symptom of PTSD. While it doesn't mention anorexia or bulimia, this deals specifically with food restriction, the results thereof, and Oliver's thoughts as to WHY.

When it starting being a thing, stopping himself from eating a meal, he wasn’t sure. Oliver remembers snacking before….before. But that was also because he was rarely home for meals as soon as he had his license. Raisa always left something out for him to reheat when he came home-if he came home. Or had a hangover cure breakfast waiting for him once he managed to rouse himself out of bed at the crack of noon.

While he was away, he took food where and when it came. There was no guarantee that it would be there when the clock said that it was time for dinner or a midnight snack. (except for with Maeso and his family, there was almost always something around, even if it was something he couldn’t pronounce).

So it had to have begun after his return to Starling City, Oliver reasoned. Nor was it an everyday thing. He had to keep himself at peak, or near peak, condition if he was going to do this, save the city. Part of that was eating.

There were times he didn’t feel like he deserved to eat. That was the issue. When he hadn’t been able to rescue people. Derek Reston was probably the first time that had happened, the first time it wasn’t just about a name on a list in a book his father had given him before blowing his brains out. After that, Oliver knew that he didn’t deserve to eat dinner that night; he had failed himself and his mission and the city by not protecting Reston. One night without food wouldn’t matter too much. It would be his penance.

Besides, there had been longer times between meals while on his own private hell island.

After not eating the night before, and dealing with the hunger pains until they had gone away though, Oliver found it hard to eat any of the large breakfast Raisa had made for the family. He managed about half a waffle and some coffee and a bit of the eggs before giving up, promising the Russian Woman that yes, he would have a good lunch.

Helena happened next. And God if there was ever a need for penance after that fuck up of his…

The nights couldn’t take a name off of the list were the worst. Those were when he wasn’t just failing himself, but his father too. But sitting in the hospital after he made a promise to himself to take down whoever the other bastard with a bow might be was not a place where he could do anything about that. Not if he wanted to be released. Of course, because his last name was Queen, the nurses were bringing him the best food possible, not just jello and pudding cups. With Thea and his mom coming and going as they were, it was hard to just not eat a meal or dump it in the trash. When he was finally released though, he made it a point to keep away from anything related to the Hood.

Seeing his sister worried like that was enough to make him never want to see it on her face again. He couldn’t do that to her.

Instead he focused on trying to get Verdant open as an actual club. He would grab an apple or a banana or an orange from the bowl of fruit that was always in the kitchen on his way out of the doors in the morning before getting into the car, Diggle still providing the cover of bodyguard.

At least John had finally stopped asking him if the fruit was all that he was eating for breakfast. Yes, it was, dammit. He didn’t have time to stop for an actual meal that involved waiting for things to cook or he had to slice up. Nor was he really all that hungry, not really. It wasn’t like he needed to keep energy levels up since he was keeping away from anything involving the Hood.

He went back to work though once the bodyguard had pointed out that he could do more good for the city if he took out people aside from those on the list. When Felicity asked him to join her because she had information for him regarding where Walter was, there was no way that he could ignore her, or her offer of where to meet up. When he found out his mother was involved with the list, he managed to keep it all together until he got back to the mansion and his own home before the stress and worry and panic made its way up and out while he sat on the floor of his bathroom next to the toilet.

It had been more fun doing this when Tommy had been next to him, making fun of how much he had to drink and how much of a lightweight he had to be if a little hangover was making him puke his guts up like this. Tommy had been one to talk though, and Oliver remembers being shoved aside the next moment while his best friend took his moment to pray to the porcelain god.

~~~

Big Belly Burger wasn’t really his thing. All the grease that dripped out of the bun and down his hands every time he bit into it. But Felicity enjoyed it, and he owed her one. Especially after she was almost killed because of him. He didn’t want to seem to be ungrateful though, and he had been a bit preoccupied at the time with the Dodger to remember to eat lunch.

The smallest thing on the menu aside from a kids meal he didn’t think he could get away with ordering was a single patty cheeseburger and a small fries in a basket. While the fries, when smothered in ketchup, were good, he couldn’t manage to get past the fact that the burger was nothing but grease.

He ate about half of it before throwing it away, hiding it under napkins so no one would see him waste food. He refused to be that person.

His mother’s words of ‘starving kids in Africa’ still rang hollow in his ears.

~~~

How could he have been so goddamned fucking _stupid_!

Even days after the undertaking, away from the city and his family and Laurel and memories of...of him,the mantra pounded through his skull like his footsteps on the dirt. _Idiot. Idiot. Idiot._ He was dead because of him.

The city had fallen apart because of him, because he couldn’t figure out fast enough that of fucking _course_ Malcolm would have another device. First rules his father had ever taught him about business was always have a backup plan in place and that redundancy was good.

While he could have hunted on the island, set out traps by the remains of the plane, he had brought food with him. Enough to last the three months that Diggle had so generously allowed him to have away from Starling.

He was a good man, Oliver knew, but he would never understand the type of guilt that he was feeling right now, that his _best goddamned friend_ was dead because of him.

So rather than hunt, he trained. He rationed his food. Went for treks to get water. Trained again and again, day after day. He would get better. He would not let another person die because of him, because he wasn’t smart enough or fast enough or skilled enough that he could not save them.

~~~

His mother was in jail, his sister wasn’t talking to him.

He made the mistake of thinking what else could go wrong before everything did.

Now his mother was facing the death penalty, Laurel Lance couldn’t know her sister was back in town, or alive, and his sister was living with Roy who wanted to be a vigilante.

Between all that and trying to get his company back into his hands and then fucking losing it because of Isabel, there was almost no time to do anything for himself. There was no safe place for him to sit and breathe for five minutes and eat a sandwich.

Sara brought in a box of protein bars to the lair for her to munch on when she was there, so he started nabbing one every now again. It wasn’t nearly enough to keep him full, or to keep the hunger at bay completely, but it let him keep moving.

During his self-imposed exile, Oliver found that he could concentrate better, fight better, if he was hungry. It gave him something else to concentrate on, something that he could control that no opponent could take away from him. In the midst of everything else that was happening around him, control was something that he needed. Something he could count on.

_he ignored the voice in his head that sounded like Felicity or John or Sara or Thea or Roy telling him that it wasn’t control, that it was never about control_

He kept the box in the lair long after Sara had left though. Refilling it as needed so that no one would know that was pretty much all that he was living on. Living off of.

When he had to be Oliver Queen, socialite, he was sure to keep to the small things of food at the various galas or fundraisers. Thankfully, nibbles were always around, and no one thought twice about anything if he only had a few here or there. After all, that was what you did at these things.

He ignored Sara when she asked him if he had been eating, if he was okay. She didn’t know. Didn’t know the feeling of having to have at least one thing that remained completely in his control because she was always so good at just going with the flow and adapting as new difficulties came.

He envied her for that.

_when had he started stuffing himself on protein bars, eating more than one, taking three out of the box and then eating them one after another after another and then taking more no he knew that wasn’t healthy but he had never really learned how to cook and Raisa was gone and there was no way that he could eat burgers or fries or anything else covered in grease he had to stay at the top because_ he _was the weapon_

~~~ 

He waved off Felicity and John and Roy after his mother’s funeral. Like him, they had been there most of the day, supporting him, keeping watch so that he could mourn as he needed to. But when the invited him to get food after the graveside service, he waved them off.

The worlds “I’m not hungry” stuck in his throat a bit. He was hungry, starving. He couldn’t see a way that food would fix that hunger. He had grabbed a banana on his way this morning, so at least he had protein from that. Or potassium. Whatever the hell it was in bananas that was supposed to be good for you.

Beneath the club, he was alone. Just him and the only thing that really mattered in his life anymore: the mission. He tried to tell himself over and over that the mission was all that mattered. But where he looked, the bits and pieces of his teammates strewn about the lair, he knew that he was fooling himself. It had become so much more than just saving a city because it was his father’s last words before he killed himself. Somehow he had gained a new family along the way that wasn’t blood and so shouldn’t matter to him so it shouldn’t bother him that he was lying to them when he said that he was _fine_.

He wasn’t. He knew he wasn’t.

But he had to keep himself together because no one else could do what he did. No one else could take down Slade and Blood and maybe possibly come out alive on the other side.

So Oliver focused on the empty feeling in his gut, drank water, and clanged the bars of the salmon ladder until he was shaking from exertion.

_it wasn’t from hunger he was fine he would have a granola bar and more water and he would be fine_

Then he went out for patrol because someone had to.

~~~

Chicken, white meat, started feeling and tasting like it was turning to ash in his mouth when he ate it now. And too much meat, especially the red meat, made him feel sick to his stomach after eating.

There was always bread. He slathered it with peanut butter he kept far away from Felicity and would slowly eat it.

_he never shoved it into his mouth no matter how much he felt like he had to he didn’t need to eat meals people were fine just snacking the whole day and until he caught Slade and fixed the city that he had screwed over so badly by letting the Australian run amok he didn’t deserve to eat that much anyway he would save that for when it was all over_

Honestly, Oliver was surprised that it had taken him so long to go to the secondary location for a base of operations. With the way his life was going, the stress and hunger, friends and family and strangers dying because of him, he really didn’t deserve to be the person, the hero, that Tommy had told him he could become. Looking the future dead in the eye, he knew that he had been dead since the boat had been blown apart by Malcolm. He should be dead. His father’s life had meant something though, and the request to save the city was not one that he would abandon lightly, not while he was still breathing.

So he planned to do the only thing that he could do. Give himself up to Slade. And then maybe, finally, he would find a sort of peace in the quiet death that would follow because he had kept his promise, he would have saved the city.

After all, what was one man’s life worth against a city of thousands?

~~~

On the days he studied business at Felicity’s apartment, he stopped at the little pastry shop a block or so away to pick her up a coffee and a muffin. Her coffee was always the largest sized cup that they had and was sweetened to the point that it would have worked as hummingbird food.

The first few times Oliver had come for his Cram Sessions-as Felicity started calling them-he had reassured her that he had eaten breakfast that morning before leaving the basement of Verdant. She was too perceptive, he noticed, to buy his excuses for long. By the time they were in their second week of study, he had taken to buying a bagel at the shop with his normal order. A half for breakfast while he dropped crumbs into the bindings of books, and a half for his lunch after she left for her shift in retail hell.

While his sister was still gone after the attacks on the city by Slade, he was calmer than he had been in the past eighteen months. The rhythm and predictability of Felicity Monday, Felicity Thursday and Felicity Friday gave him a singular focus that wasn’t related to fighting enhanced soldiers on the streets of keeping his family safe. Three days every week where he knew what he would eat, when, and how. Three days every week when he didn’t have to keep his guard up.

Regaining his family’s legacy would have been well and good, but he knew in his heart that it would not have been the best for anyone working at the company. Felicity was determined to have him get everything back in his name, determined that he not live and sleep on the floor of the lair on a nest of blankets he had made for himself.

Oliver had made a promise to himself that he would never disappoint her, never do anything to make her regret placing that level of trust in him.

Even when Palmer swoops in at the last moment and talks so smoothly that Oliver is surprised no one else can see the oil dripping from Ray’s mouth, he knows that he won’t disappoint Felicity because he had tried. Instead of going back to the lair for another dinner of ramen cooked over the hot plate he would only manage half of (he only ever managed half), he asked Felicity out for dinner instead.

Oliver regretted his decision to not follow his instincts, to allow himself to want something simply for the sake of wanting it, every day.

~~~

Over and over the mantra sounded in his head. Oliver Queen is alive only in the Past.He was not Oliver Queen.Because he was not Oliver Queen he did not need to feel any guilt over Sara’s death. No guilt over Roy giving up the life he had created to keep Oliver from a life in jail. No guilt over leaving his team. That man was dead.

His name was Al Sah-Him. Oliver Queen is dead.

Oliver Queen already paid for his betrayal of the city and his family and friends with his death.

His fasting was for a search of power within him that he would need to lead the League.

His refusal to do more than eat the bare minimum to keep himself alive was because Ra’s demanded it.

It was not done as penance for betrayal. '

There had been no betrayal because Oliver Queen was dead.

_so why couldn’t he believe it_

~~~

In his head, Oliver was making a list of things he didn’t know about Felicity before their road trip started. As they drove down the coast he added things like wore giant sunglasses and hated wearing shoes in a car.

A few hours later, he learned a very important Felicity lesson: she got Hangry.

He didn’t want to stop for food. He didn’t want this dream to end when they stopped driving and she realized just the kind of broken man he was. But he also didn’t want Hangry grouchy Felicity riding next to him in the car.

The roadside diner he pulled into had a small parking lot that was lit with one or two flickering lights. The real light came from inside where the 50s had never left.

His fingers stuck to the menu as he listlessly looked through it. Nothing sounded good. Nothing looked good.

He ignored Felicity’s look when he ordered a small salad, no chicken, dressing on the side and a glass of water.

She on the other hand devoured the burger, fries, spiced apples, chocolate shake and asked for a piece of pie to go for dessert.

Once they were back on the road he picked up her hand from her side, laced his fingers through it, and kissed her knuckles. She hadn’t said a thing when he almost inhaled his salad, nor anything about him only getting the salad.

~~~

The old _Joy of Cooking_ book seemed to mock him from the shelf. They were somewhere in Nebraska and had happened upon a used book store when Felicity had asked him to please pull in so she could look.

_even though she had her tablet she preferred the feeling of paper in her hands he learned quickly it was added to his list of important things_

Oliver picked it up and bought it on a whim. He couldn’t cook. Hell, he hardly ate even though he tried. But it was still so hard to feel like he had any choice in the matter. There was no world where he deserved Felicity’s love after everything that he had done, which meant there was no world where he would ever be done paying for his misdeeds with his own pain.

She was his light. She did not deserve to face that pain with him. He never let her get Hangry again.

They stocked up on snacks for the rides and stopped for at least three meals every day. Ice cream, Felicity said again and again, did not count as a meal. Nor did Frozen Custard when they made it far enough into the midwest that they were more likely to come across the custard than ice cream.

At night he paged through the cookbook, looking at the photos of the meals. It was a form of private torture for him since he was at least eating now.

_why was he eating he already had felicity why did he deserve to be happy_

His finger caught on one of the dogeared pages and he found himself looking at a recipe for breaded pork chops. It looked simple enough. He could probably make it if he wanted to. If Felicity wanted him to. He wanted to impress her. That even though he couldn’t be a whole person in his brain he could at least be everything that she needed him to be.

He moved from pork chops to lasagna to casseroles before finally coming to rest on a chicken cordon bleu. He stirred and tasted and seasoned, taking bites here and there of the side dishes to be sure they were all coming along. The Queen of the Kitchen, as she had taken to calling him. Master of all he saw and all the bowls.

Oliver laid in bed with Felicity next to him that night, wondering what was different. He felt different. Nothing had changed though. Too tired to try to figure it out, he rolled over and snuggled into his girlfriend, breathing in her hair and skin.

but everything had changed he ate chicken he ate a whole breast of chicken and a salad and two of the rolls he had made and went to bed without feeling like his stomach was hitting his spine

~~~

They went out for breakfast one morning after a particularly late night. He, his sister, Felicity, John and Lyla and baby Sara. Laurel had left to go to work because, as she reminded them with a smile, they had caught one of the people her dad had been after for months, which meant that the DA would be getting a call soon.

The red eyed waitress of the hole in the wall breakfast place found the group a table large enough for all of them and didn’t comment on the fact that the Mayoral Candidate and CEO of Palmer Tech were eating at a place they could have probably bought seven times over.

The early morning breakfast options were on the back side of the menu.

Oliver took a glance, then handed it back to “Kandi with a K” with a smile. “Two belgian waffles, scrambled eggs and a side of bacon. Oh, and a glass of OJ.”

Breakfast sounded delicious.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story that means a lot to me. As a writer, it was the first time I tried to tackle a challenge of covering three and a bit seasons of a tv show. And then, for a reason I still can’t explain, I went a no dialogue route, so the final spoken words had more of an impact.
> 
> On a more personal note, the eating disorder dealt with here (food restriction) is one that I have had an intimate time with. I’m coming out on the other side and am almost where Oliver is at the end of this story. I don’t have PTSD, but the feelings of “not deserving” to eat are ones that echo through me and into Oliver. Going “back in time” in my mind to write this ended up incredibly cathartic for me and I could finally see how it was from an outside perspective once someone else was dealing with it.
> 
> And while I can’t see Oliver Queen mistreating his body like in this fic (he cares too much about being at peak shape, which to me includes food), I did enjoy exploring another facet of how he might have been different after the island, and the start of his path to healing.


End file.
